The Way It All Goes Down
by Meb
Summary: How I hope Chimera ends . . . obviously there are spoilers


Rating: PG 

Summary: How I hope Chimera ends . . .  

Pairing: Sam/Other; Sam/Jack 

Warning: Spoilers through Season 7, obvious ones being Chimera, Fallen, The Changeling, Divide and Conquer, Solitudes, In the Line of Duty, Abyss, Upgrades (spot the reference and I'll give you a cookie)

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

"I have spread my dreams under your feet;  Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."   
~_William Butler Yeats, He wishes for the cloths of heaven_

He glanced out the window at the dozens of cars wrapped around his block. If none of the other strange happenings over the years had managed to piss off his neighbors, he was sure his rather large party and his guests' rather haphazard parking would finish the job quite nicely. Ms. Flaherty's tulip border would undoubtedly be the first of many casualties tonight. 

Turning away, he took a large gulp of beer and began to survey the damage inside. So far, so good. One glass broken in the kitchen, a few discarded pizza boxes laying around, and a small stain on his carpet from where Daniel had accidentally dropped his food after remembering he didn't like pineapple and anchovies, despite be assured by SG-3 that it was a particular favorite of his. Add to these minor annoyances the blaring music (which he considered himself way too old for), two young officers making out on his deck (which he considered them way too old for), and the fact that the main reason this damned party was taking place hadn't shown up yet and it was no wonder he felt a headache coming on. 

It seemed the least she could do was make an appearance since he was willing to risk his home and his sanity for her. 

Actually, if he was going to be honest with himself, and quite frankly there was no one else in the universe he could be completely honest with, he wasn't doing this for her. He was doing this for everybody but her. 

He was doing it for _him_. The dreaded _him_ that he had always known would come along eventually. _He_ had been a certainty in his mind from the first time he met her. Through the days when they were struggling to find their balance as teammates and friends, through Antarctica and Jolinar and Ba'al and Daniel, through admissions and confessions and denials. He had known that one day someone would look at her and see exactly what he saw and then it would be over before it had even really begun. 

He was doing it because in her effort to keep _him_ separate from the SGC, she would have kept everything from _him_ and it would end up tearing them apart like it did his marriage. And as disappointed as he was that he wasn't _him_, he couldn't bear for her to go through something like that. So he was having this party so that _he_, Pete, would have a chance to know the people who worked with her, who knew her on a level _he_ never could, the people who watched over her and were protected by her, and the one person who would rather have died than lose her . . .

He was also doing it for them. The large noisy crowd that represented a fraction of the staff assigned to the most classified project in the world and were currently turning his house upside down. During this latest brush with death and destruction, _he_ had become common knowledge. Just like word of the fragile, inappropriate feelings he felt for his 2IC had spread through the mountain like wildfire, so too did the rumor that Major Samantha Carter had finally stopped waiting for the impossible and found herself a nice, stable boyfriend. 

They had jumped at the chance to come over and view the spectacle that was inevitable in their minds. He frowned then, wondering if perhaps he was being too harsh. But the alternative was also troubling if he let himself think about it. The idea that they might be there for moral support while he said goodbye to his future filled him with a sense of failure. If they knew the importance of this meeting, if they knew what it was costing him, then he hadn't kept it in that room. He hadn't done the one thing she had asked him to do. 

But most of all, he was doing this for himself. He could have just as easily invited the couple over for a small gathering with just SG-1 or maybe even dropped by her lab one day and let her know that he understood. That he wasn't bitter or mad, how could he be when he'd had her at his side in some form or fashion for seven years and knew he would have her friendship and support for years to come. After all, he had known this day was coming, but he had to admit the anticipation of the event held nothing to the pain of it actually occurring. 

The bottom line remained though. She had moved on, and he was happy for her. He had wished for a different ending, but if this the only one they'd have, he could cope as long as she was safe and loved. 

But he couldn't have coped alone, which is the real reason why he was currently looking at the members of SG-2 reenacting their last mission with use of his grandmother's quilt and a nearby lampshade. 

He turned back to the window and watched for her car. They were late and now that the end was here, he wanted to get it over with.

~

"Sam, you're early! Give me a few minutes and I'll be ready to go," Pete announced as he leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek. Pulling back, he saw the determination in her eyes and the tension in her posture and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Hobbling back a few steps on his crutches, he watched her with new wariness. Things had been a bit strained since his injury. He had apologized several times for his suspiciousness and promised to leave well enough alone as far as her job went, even going so far as to stifle his curiosity in regards to some of more fantastic things he saw at Cheyenne Mountain before his accident, but he was beginning to wonder if it was enough. There was a distance between them that was widening as the silence stretched out, making him think of the eerie calm before a storm starts to batter everything in its path.

"We need to talk," she finally said, her voice revealing nothing as she stepped inside and shut the door.

The phrase feared by every man involved in a relationship. No good could ever come after that statement. Resigned to his fate, he tried for a small smile and offered, "Well, come on in and sit down. I'll make some coffee."

"There's no need . . ." she let her words linger in the room, seemingly unsure of how to continue. Following him into the tiny sitting area in his hotel suite, she helped him get comfortable, propping his leg on a small cushion, her motions automatic and lacking the affection he had come to crave from her. Taking the seat across from him, she sighed softly as if finally making up her mind about something she should have settled a long time ago. 

"Pete, there's no easy way to say this . . . and believe me, I don't have that much experience . . ." she trailed off again and he heard a dry chuckle that conveyed sadness more than humor. 

"What is it, Sam?" He forced himself to ask over the lump forming in his throat. Deep within he felt a desperate need to voice the question, even though he knew already what the answer would be.

"I can't do this anymore," she responded softly but leaving no room for doubt. 

"By this, I guess you mean us," he retorted, anger gripping him momentarily. Fear was hot on its heels as he wondered why the woman he'd been dating for the past few weeks couldn't bring herself to even refer to them as _us_. Worried that maybe there never had been an _us_, except in his mind.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"A lot of reasons," she answered, getting up to pace the length of the room. He had become well versed in all things Sam Carter since they had met a month and a half ago and he knew avoidance when he saw it. Whatever was on her mind was keeping her from meeting his eyes.

"Does it have to do with work because I thought we had already—"

"No!" She interrupted and almost immediately contradicted herself. "Yes. It's complicated."

"When is life not," he asks with a wry grin. It fades quickly though, as his next words spring unbidden from his mouth. "Do you not care about me?"

He cursed himself silently. Love was too strong a word and like too insipid but care could be construed in so many ways. 

However, his question had stilled her increasingly nervous motion and she stood in front of him, her eyes closed and an almost pained expression on her face. "I do," she assured him, eyelids still clutched tightly together. 

He held his breath and waited her out, knowing that whatever she said next would cement their fate permanently. Sam wasn't someone to make decisions lightly or waver back and forth once she had made one. Finally the quiet got to be too much, the air too thick, and his own imagination too active, so he ventured, "You care about me but . . ."

"Pete, you know I do," she agreed, opening her eyes and looking straight at him. Everything she felt was broadcast through her lovely blue eyes and something inside him started to ache. It was he who looked away as she finished in a voice barely above a whisper, "but a lot less than I'm supposed to."

~

"Teal'c, you're supposed to be one of the mature ones! Put Siler down!"

Sam eyebrows rose in surprise as she heard the Colonel's voice boom through the door. His footsteps were barely discernable over the raucous laughter that followed his reprimand. Knowing she only had a few seconds at most before he opened the door, she smoothed her hands down her shirt and glanced briefly at her jeans and boots. Hearing the knob twist, her head snapped up and she held her breath.

"Ms. Flaherty, I've already promised I'll replace the tu—"he broke off when he saw her standing there. "Carter."

"Sir." Her heart was beating so fast that she couldn't hear her own voice over the blood rushing in her ears. Taking a deep breath, she hoped that her voice didn't wobble when she joked, "Teal'c getting rowdy again?"

"Yeah, since Junior's been gone, he's worse than Daniel about handling alcohol," he replied. 

She saw his eyes move beyond her into the murky shadows of dusk and she knew what, or rather who, he was seeking. His gaze returned to her face, his concern evident. "Where's Pete?"

"He's on his way to Denver." 

Astute man that he was, he heard what she didn't say and she saw the dawning implications filter through his mind, lighting up his eyes and straightening his shoulders. But he tried to hide his hope, and she knew it was as much for her sake as for his own. Looking directly at her for the first time since this whole thing had started and her secret had been let out of the bag, he asked gently, "And you're okay with that?"

"Yes." 

Such a little word but the three letters were more confirmation of her feelings than anything else she'd ever said. She felt her eyes water and blinked furiously as she stood on his doorstep smiling up at him with more openness than she had in years. And the truly amazing thing was that he was grinning back at her. 

"C'mon Carter, I saved you a Diet Coke."


End file.
